


Rescue

by TanukiKyle



Series: Dynamic AU [1]
Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-06-10 08:32:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6947842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TanukiKyle/pseuds/TanukiKyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vilka sets out to 'rescue' Mircea.<br/>Things don't really go to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You shouldn’t be doing this, you know that.

But. It’s MIRCEA.

You tried to fight the urge, to just follow orders and accept assignments and not wander off and go looking for him. You think if it were a Heterodyne ordering you you’d have succeeded. But the thing is, it’s not. It’s not that Baron Wulfenbach is a bad guy. He was Bill and Barry’s best friend! He helped them when you (not the single you, but the plural you, the jagers-as-one-you) were forbidden to. But.

But he’s not a Heterodyne and for all he’s trying to take the place of them he isn’t. 

And, it’s Mircea. 

 

You need to know he’s safe, that he’s okay, that the other members of his squad are taking care of him. You’ll come back afterwards, you reason. You just need to check up on him, because you haven’t heard any news in a while. 

They didn’t even take a medic with them, there was no medic in the squad and what if he gets hurt!

You’ll deal with whatever consequences that brings after you know Mircea is safe, that he’s doing okay. And possibly after you bully him into sending a message more often.

(Okay, definitely after that.)

So you pack up - hat, goggles,weapons, medic kit, mess kit, more weapons in that spare pocket, the small collection of money you’ve gathered - you know, general stuff you’ll need for travelling, and you go. 

It’s not as hard as you expected. Nobody asks where you’re going - to the humans you’re just another wulfenbach jager, and to the jagers you’re probably just off on another assignment. There’s no jagers here you’re really close to. I mean, you’re still /pack/ and everything. But. 

You’re just not as close to them as others are. 

(You want to be, but you can’t, you can’t. It’s not safe.)

And it’s kind of like an assigment. If asssigments were set by yourself instead of superiors and in fact kind of disobeyed orders actually uh.

Hm.

Maybe it’ not like an assignment at all, except for the fact it has to be done.

You’ve been listening extra-closely for any news of the wild jägers, lately. You’ve always been listening out for it of course, same as every other jäger. But now you’re chasing down rumours and snippets.

The closest place you might find some is about a month’s travel, where a new spark has surfaced out of nowhere. It’s a good place to start - the wild jägers will definitely be checking it out, so even if you can’t find Mircea, you might find a trail or even a wild jäger to point you in the right direction! 

You’re very careful. Jägers don’t last long on their own - part of the reason you’re going looking for Mircea - especially young jägers. That’s why they denied you detachment, after all. But you aren’t as reckless as they think - you’re not going to jump in random fights or get involved in anything unless it’s directly going to lead you to Mircea.

You’ll be fine.

 

\--

You’re not fine. You’re not fine at ALL. 

In your defense though, it’s nothing to do with being a younger jäger, so much as it is being a jäger at all. The wild jägers were here, though you have no idea who they were, or if Mircea was with them, or if they found anything at all, because on the way into town you got ambushed by a group of constructs looking for a jäger.

I mean, it’s not like you didn’t win that fight. The constructs were...shoddy. You’re not a spark, but you are a medic, and you can tell bad work when you see it. 

The weird thing was how determined they were, though. It wasn’t that they weren’t feeling the pain or the injuries - you know what that looks like - it’s just that they didn’t /stop/ with what should have been incapacitating blows due to pain. After you realised that you swapped straight to going for tendons or death. 

But in the meantime they’ve got you a couple of times, and it’s with sneaking horror you realise that some of them are poisonous. You can feel the familiar acid-itch through your bloodstream. Judging from the severity of the itch, it’s not fatal or even that dangerous, but it’s slowing your movements a little. Combined with the fact the constructs weren’t dealing lethal blows, you suspect a soporific of some kind. 

You stand, bloodied with a pile of ex-constructs about you, and you decide that you’ll follow up the next lead instead. If someone’s looking to capture a jäger this badly, that’s a bad thing. And if they’re this determined, they probably haven’t succeeded yet. Flicking the excess gore from your claws, you continue on.

Except, you realise with another subtle uptick in your heart-rate as you round the corner away from town, there’s more of them coming your way. You can’t see them yet, even with the aid of your goggles, but you can use your other senses. You roll out the way just in time as one lunges from the treeline, then dart backwards with your knife out and sever it’s carotid arteries via a slash from one side of the neck to the other. 

Another construct howls and leaps, claws just snagging into your back as you duck, ripping coat and flesh alike. You swear. You liked that coat, and now you’re either going to have to fix it or get a new one. Okay let’s be serious with the amount of blood on you you’re probably going to have to get a whole new outfit. Bloodstains might be cool, but they’re not very fashionable, or good for the whole blending-in thing.

By the end of the second fight, even your hat needs at least a spot clean, and everything else is definitely getting a dip in the river.

By the end of the third your hat needs dipping and you’re considering straight-up binning the rest, but that’s not the worrying part.

The worrying part is the way you’re stumbling. You don’t know what’s the poison and what’s exhaustion, but three packs of constructs - even shoddy ones - on top of a month of travelling where you pushed yourself a little too hard - well, you’re not in the best shape.

They still don’t get the drop on you, though. It’s hard to scent now, covered as you are, and your goggles have a big smear on them, but your ears still work fine, and they warn you about the next construct, who slams a fist down right where you were standing.

Even with the smear on your goggles though, you realise that this is a different class of construct. The ones before have been simple amalgamations, animal bits grafted straight onto what would have once been humans. This guy...this guy is different. Oh still not seamless, you can see stitches and bolts, but a step up. You imagine, from the shiny plate embedded into his chest with some kind of maker’s mark, that this is the Spark’s finest work. 

To be honest, it doesn't’ impress you that much.

It wouldn’t normally worry you either, but then, normally you’d have backup. Normally you wouldn’t be poisoned. Normally you wouldn’t be exhausted. Normally you’d have a better plan than hit-and-git.   
You spit blood from your mouth, and flicking needles at the creature’s eyes, you draw your knives.

He’s big, but that just means he’s a bigger target. 

You’re used to fighting bigger targets, anyway. This is not on account of the fact you are small, it’s on account of the fact that everyone else is just big. You duck as another fist swings at you, but when you try to get back up you stumble, turning it into a roll last minute to dodge a kick. If this thing hits you, you very much doubt you’re getting back up.

(a tiny part of you acknowledges the fact you’re probably not going to win this fight, but it’s drowned out by the rest of you.)

(and if you’re gonna go down, you’re gonna go down fighting.)

The next blow connects - glancingly, but enough to throw you backwards and into a tree. You feel more than hear something crack, and you kick upwards aiming for what you assume is the creature, spitting out a bloody tooth as you go. 

You slam your knives into the creature’s chest, but they’re short in reach. They penetrate and you tear ribbons of flesh off. But darkly, you know it’s not enough.

Every inch of you hurts, throbbing with dizziness and pain. You drip with blood, too much of it your own. As the fist descends again, seemingly faster this time, you dodge out of the way a little too slowly. Your tail is caught between gargantuan digits and you are lifted into the air, sending your head spinning.

You flick yourself upwards and bite down hard, tearing into him with both venom and teeth. The creature cries out - likely at the acid burn of your poison - but doesn’t drop you. You rage and thrash, lashing out with daggers and claws and teeth but whilst you’re flaying the skin from his hand and arm, you’re not getting free, and you’re feeling strangely disconnected from your body.

Oh. 

Glancing down at your torso, you realise it’s been riddled with darts. Some of them have snagged in your coat - or what’s left of it - but the majority have hit home. They don’t burn though. Don’t itch.

They numb, and it’s with one last swearword you slip into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Vilka wakes.   
  
Then they curse, because waking is…..worse, in a way. If they’d have died, they could have been confident in saying that the spark would learn no heterodyne secrets. Dead jägers don’t have the same - if you’ll excuse the pun - ‘spark’ as live ones do. But being alive and captured is bad.    
  
Of course, they don’t curse out loud. No, Vilka is quiet and still, keeping their breathing to the same steady rhythm of sleep. Hopefully that rhythm is the same as unconscious-breathing, they’ve never really compared the two before. Or had a reason to, either. They let their lips part slightly, tongue tasting the air as they breathe in, scenting carefully.    
  
This is not promising. It smells like a lab - chemicals, old blood, metal and fire and that ozone-scent of lightning. Vilka curses again. They don’t open their eyes yet, but they extend their hearing, listening as carefully as they can whilst keeping their ears still. Bubbling of fluid, the clicking of gears, and the grind of metal against a sharpening stone. A faint electrical buzzing too, that perplexingly seems a lot closer than the others, despite being so faint. It sounds like a lab, but Vilka can’t hear anybody, so they open their eyes. 

 

It’s a lab, and Vilka is lain out on a slab. Cuffs hold their wrists and ankles, as well as their waist and neck. Multiple span the length of their tail.  Thick leather bands and Vilka thinks to snap them, but finds them reinforced somehow. Still, it’s leather - slightly more flexible than steel, and certainly easier to cut. Regretfully, the spark appears to have been intelligent enough to have stripped them, preventing the use of any of their weapons, even the hidden ones.    
  
But, Vilka is a jäger. There are some weapons that cannot be detached. Vilka takes a deep breath and begins to pull their wrist upwards, curling their fingers down so they can get their claws at the leather. It’s a slow process, rendered slower by the fact Vilka doesn’t have the strength to stretch the leather at speed. If they could get their teeth on the leather that would help too - and not just because of the poison. But this will work if they have time - and they still can’t hear anyone coming. 

 

They don’t know how long they work at the leather, only that by the end their wrist is aching furiously, but their claws are at the leather strap. Sharp and strong, they slice through it like butter -  whatever is reinforcing it from being snapped obviously isn’t stopping it from being cut. After freeing a hand and then the other, the straps fall away easily enough. Sitting up, they are yanked back by something attached to their head. Raising their hands, they detach what appears to be some kind of sensor network. Shit. That’s bound to have set off some kind of alarm, silent or not. Time has suddenly become a pressing issue - equipment will have to wait. They’ve got claws and teeth and tail and poison. They should be able to take down any guards with that and the element of stealth. The priority is getting out of here.

  
They set off at a sprint, darting through the open arch that presumably leads to the rest of the sparks lair. As they do, they hear footsteps, and they ready their claws, lunging. The guard goes down, neck yawning red, but Vilka doesn’t pause, continues running, trying to find a window, a point of reference to how to get out this damned maze. They begin to suspect they’re underground. They don’t know how long they were out - they could be anywhere in Europa, perhaps even farther - but there are no windows and there’s a dank scent to the air, a chill against their bare skin. Skidding round a corner at speed, they hear shouting, a cadence of angry words, but before they can figure out what the words are saying, a large construct lumbers into view, and Vilka swallows. They raise themselves onto the balls of their feet, and hiss, ears pinning back and poisonous fangs dropping.    
  
So concentrated on the foe in front, they do not see the Spark and his dart gun behind.

  
  


The second time they wake, they don’t pretend to be asleep because they can hear talking as soon as they rise to consciousness. Blinking awake, they snarl and open their eyes, blurry shapes eventually focusing into the large construct from before, and a sharply-dressed person in a labcoat peering over them. As they near, facial features come into view. Male, late thirties, obviously taking pride in his appearance from the well groomed hair. Maybe if they concentrate on the things they notice about him, they won’t see the coldness in his eyes, the amusement dancing there, or the scalpel in his hand. They firmly shut out his words - or try to, but hearing doesn’t work like that, really. 

  
“Interesting, it seems even a double dose knocks out the specimen for far less time than anticipated. You are marking this down, Adison?”

 

A noise comes from behind Vilka, somewhere they can’t see.  Vilka tries to move, to wriggle out of the restraints, but this time they are welded steel. Welded, Vilka notices, straight to the table. That does not bode well. They pull, but there’s only resistance, no give. They barely move, and their captor smiles.   
  
“Excellent, the upgraded restraints seem to work. Now stay still, jäger, and it might hurt a little less.”

 

Vilka doesn’t flinch when the scalpel touches to their arm, when he excises a section of the flesh down to the bone, scraping a little away from that too. It hurts, sure. But Vilka can handle pain. They can wait. Wait for him to get sloppy. Even now orange-tinted blood is running down their arm, slicking the way for Vilka’s wrist to wriggle out the restraints.  

 

“Interesting. You are registering the pain, because the sensors tell me you are. Simply ignoring it, eh? I applaud your control.”

 

Vilka waits anticipatedly for him to get close enough that they can bite him, poison him, kill him and rend him limb from limb, for daring to try and steal the Heterodyne secrets. They wiggle their arm. Thankfully he’s avoided cutting through major muscle links, and the bloodflow is giving them a little lubrication to get their arm free. The spark is talking to a small construct who Vilka presumes is Adison thanks to the clipboard in his arms. 

  
“Interesting….despite the colouration and visual differences, your tissue registers as human to my scanner…Perhaps we need a larger sample size.”

 

This time, when he flays their stomach open, Vilka does scream.    
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Vilka crumples as the construct thumps them, collapsing to the floor. Well, that was a particularly feeble escape attempt they muse as the construct slings them over their shoulder. They growl weakly but even that is half hearted. They should have waited really, but they’d seen the opportunity. All it’s brought them though is a ringing pain in their head to match the constant pulse of pain from everything else. They can’t even bite the damn construct - one of the things the spark had learned to do quickly was to milk their poison glands. I mean they still had sharp teeth, but it would just be damage for damages sake - it wouldn’t get them any closer to escaping.

  
And despite it all, Vilka felt sorry for the constructs, now that they’d spent long enough with the spark to start to get to know the constructs - or at least his favourites. They’d learned more about the spark, too. He was never going to be able to figure out what made jägers jägers, that was for sure. Oh it wasn’t that he was a weak spark, simply that his strength wasn’t construct biology. Why, Vilka mused as they were slung into the cell they slept in, he seemed so determined to do constructs was beyond them.   
  
But then, Vilka thought looking at their  hands, looking almost human with the claws filed down to nubs, most things were beyond them now. They bite back the sting of tears. Their vision in the light is bad enough, they don’t need the blurriness of tears on top of that. They have to be alert, they have to keep watch. He’ll get sloppy eventually. I mean it’s not happened yet. But eventually it will, and then Vilka will escape, and they’ll kill the spark on the way.

 

But there likely won’t be another chance soon, so Vilka curls up into a tight ball that makes them feel more secure even as it pains them, and sleeps. The more well rested they are, the stronger they are, the better chance they’ll have.

 

Weirdly, the spark doesn’t return for a good time. Vilka doesn’t have any way to measure the time, being underground and with the lighting never turned off after the spark discovered that Vilka’s vision is blurry in the light. The spark knocks them out frequently which doesn’t help. Easier, VIlka supposes, than dealing with fighting when they’re trying to get them from cell to slab, or slab to cell. But this time they wake up naturally, still in the cell. A few trays of food have been pushed through, the first congealed over. Vilka eats them all anyway - the spark knows how much they eat by now, and Vilka is kept fed enough but still, the extra energy will be useful for healing.    
  
Even measuring by feed is not reliable - the spark feeds them regularly yes, but sometimes it’ll be lots of small meals, or one big meal. Vilka suspects the spark doesn’t want them knowing how long they’ve been here. But it won’t matter in the end. Because he’ll be dead, and Vilka will be free.    
  
Vilka examines their hands. Their claws are slowly growing back, but not yet to the level where they’ll be useful for picking the lock on the cell door. And they’re in no shape to fight. They’ll wait a little they think, before the next attempt. A little more healing and they’ll go.

  
However, the next time they wake, they’re back in the lab proper. Oddly, not on the slab. The spark is pacing, but he stops when Vilka wakes. 

 

“Excellent, you’re awake.”

 

Vilka shuts their eyes to spite him, only to feel an electrical current run through them, startling them to full alertness and making them yelp. 

 

“Now let’s see how long you can last.”

 

Vilka tenses, but nothing happens. That’s an ominous statement, after all. They seem to be tied to a (steel) chair, with wires hooking them up to something electrical, and that weird sensor network on their head.

 

“Since you won’t answer any questions, and your samples have been less than useful, I’ve decided we’ll just have to test you out.”

 

Okay yes that’s definitely ominous. Their luminescence flickers across their skin - Vilka has given up on controlling their reactions now, the spark doesn’t seem to care past the realm of science, not interested in causing pain for pain’s sake. In a way, it would be easier if they did, if Vilka could hate them for that too. As it is, Vilka is mostly bored with his useless tests, and frustrated by their lack of ability to escape.    
  
This doesn’t get any better when the Spark just. Ignores them. Goes about working in his lab, dealing with other constructs, working on some clanks, some blueprints. General lab stuff. Vilka watches him, alert for anything that could get knocked off in their direction, or any clues that might let on to directions in this maze, or. Well. Anything useful. But they get nothing, and after a few hours they shut their eyes in boredom.   
  
They open them sharpish when the current reappears, this time hissing. They haven’t spoken yet to the spark, and they don’t plan to, either. If they don’t speak, they can’t give up any information, no matter how small or insignificant it might seem to Vilka - it might help him somehow. 

  
Okay, the spark doesn’t want them closing their eyes. So what is this? Attention span? Some test to see how long Vilka can pay attention? Well, they’ll ruin that sharpish. Vilka stares at one spot on the wall instead. Then, when boredom sets in from that, they start counting stones. Then they imagine splaying the spark out and carefully deconstructing /him/. Part by part, carefully keeping him alive and in pain till the last possible minute. Then they imagine killing him quickly and running. Just running until they’re back in Mechanicsburg. Bill and Barry might have returned by now, after all.    
  
Lost in thinking of home, and tired from healing, Vilka’s eyes slip shut, only to snap open from another shock.

 

“Hm, interesting.” The spark is peering at them, making notes and adjusting the sensor network. “Adison, mark it down. We’ll run a brain scan after the conclusion of this experiment.”

 

Vilka attempts to snap at him, poison milked or not, but their reactions are slowed by the fact they’re tired, and their fangs close on empty air. The spark smirks, and Vilka allows their hatred to seethe, to roil and keep them awake. It can’t keep them awake forever, though.   
  
Eventually, the spark moves them off the chair. Binds their wrists above their head and keeps them standing. How he’s just wearing short-sleeves, Vilka has no idea. They’re freezing in here, goosebumps everywhere and man they’re hungry, really really hungry. Even with the shocks, their eyes keep slipping cold. Whatta jerky spark. Such a douchebag. They should come up with a name for him so when they tell this story the other jägers will laugh at him.   
  
They shouldn’t have thought of that. The lack of other jägers is like a physical pain, sharper than the current that seems to be running through them almost constantly now. Horrifyingly, VIlka starts to cry, big fat orange drops that run down their cheeks and go plink-plop on the stone floor. They can’t stop thinking about it now. Pack. Heterodynes. Mircea. Oh Mircea. Vilka hopes that wherever he is missing, he’s not in a situation like this.   
  
“Mircea, hm? Is that another jäger?”

 

It is only then that Vilka realises they’ve been mumbling Mircea’s name. Blearily they focus their vision, or try to. Is that Adison standing there, or the spark? They should be able to tell, even with the lights on. But they can’t. They’re so tired. So tired.    
  
Another crack of electricity.

 

Vilka can’t even be bothered to growl at it now. They find their eyes sliding around the lab. Wait, weren’t they doing something? Thinking about something, something important. Snapping fingers in front of their face.    
  
They should bite them, but they don’t think they can move anymore. There’s someone speaking, but Vilka can’t seem to comprehend the words. Someone stands above them, and for a second Vilka thinks it’s Gkika, thinks they’re back home and they try to give a report.   
  
All that comes out is jumbled nonsense. The figure says something back, and Vilka feels the sting of a needle. What were they saying? Who were they saying it to? Oh, they’re being laid down, they think. It’s pretty hard to tell when the room’s spinning.

 

Someone’s petting their hair, they think. Telling them they did good, that it’s okay to sleep now. Vilka feels like they should be saying no, should be fighting back.   
  
They can’t quite remember why, though. 

  
  
  


  
  


 


End file.
